The Putrid Smell of Success
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: A boat. Why did it have to be a boat?


There were few things in life that Timothy McGee truly loathed. Heights, of course, made the list, along with telemarketers and every jock who had tormented him in high school. Topping the list of loathsome things, though, were boats. Be it a tiny row boat or a yacht or a large air craft carrier, Tim hated them all, and for good reason.

"Make a hole! Probie's gonna upchuck!"

He hated them because the moment he set foot on one, his stomach churned and the bile bubbled inside of him as it threatened to rise forcefully up through his esophagus and spew from his mouth.

"Again, McGee?" Gibbs asked as he looked down at his junior agent.

Tim was lying prostrate on the floor, his head situated face-down inside the mop bucket he had managed to filch from the ship's supply closet. From the bucket rose the putrid and vile aroma of fresh vomit. None of Tim's co-workers dared look inside the bucket; they were content to leave that to their imaginations.

"In McGee's defense, this ship does seem to rock more than ships usually do," Ziva commented.

As if to prove her point, the ship lurched forward, causing them all to stumble. Ziva clutched her stomach as her face grew a sickly tint of green. "I may need to borrow his bucket."

"Go find your own bucket," he groaned.

Gibbs grabbed Tim by his shoulders and pulled him to a standing position. "Since you can't seem to grow a pair of sea legs, I want you to stay here and keep watch. If you see anyone suspicious, call it in."

Tim swallowed a last bit of sickness before giving Gibbs a shaky nod. "Yes, boss."

"We don't even know what we're looking for," Tony grumbled.

"We know that Petty Officer John Marsh was seen entering the ship four hours ago," Ziva pointed out. "Considering he is wanted in the murder of a Marine, I think we know precisely what we are looking for, Tony."

"Someone _thought_ they saw him entering the ship. For all we know, the guy is on his way to the Canadian border."

"Or, he's stowing away on an abandoned ship until the authorities give up looking for him," Gibbs said. "Tony, take the left, Ziva take the right. I'll be on the upper deck. You see someone, call it in."

"Yes, boss," they chorused before running in opposite directions.

Tim, as ordered, remained in his spot, leaning against the wall and holding the mop bucket in his hands. The bucket's contents sloshed about as the ship rocked back and forth. The wet, squishing noise made him cringe in disgust. "Why did it have to be a boat?"

A sound from behind him caused him to straighten up. It was the sound of footsteps clicking against the floor…and the footsteps were getting closer! He unceremoniously dropped the bucket and grabbed his gun, acutely aware that there was someone nearby. All thoughts of seasickness disappeared from his mind; he didn't even react when the bucket toppled over and its contents oozed on to the floor. He was poised and ready for whoever was about to round the corner.

It would have been a perfect if the ship hadn't swayed furiously, forcing Tim to lose his footing and topple over. He felt his gun slip from his hands as he hit the ground.

"Dammit!" a voice snarled. "Don't touch that gun!"

Tim obliged. A foot came into his line of vision and kicked his weapon. His stomach sank as he watched the Sig slide down the corridor.

"Now get up!" the voice ordered.

Tim slowly pushed himself up to his knees and then paused for a breath. A hand grabbed him roughly by the neck and harshly pulled him to his feet. "I said get up!"

"I'm up! I'm up!" he said. He looked up and found himself face to face with P.O. John Marsh. The man was holding a gun, and he didn't look very happy to see an NCIS Agent.

"Put your hands on the wall," Marsh ordered.

Tim did as he was told, but in his mind he was weighing his options. Behind him, he heard Marsh holster his gun. Moments later Tim felt Marsh patting him down, looking for a second weapon. When he found none, Marsh pulled Tim back, twisting the man's arm behind him. Tim winced as he felt the barrel of a gun pressed into his side.

"We're going to take a walk."

"Sounds like fun," Tim muttered bitterly.

In response to the sarcasm, Marsh jabbed the gun into Tim's ribs. "Don't be a smartass, fed!"

When taken hostage by a man with a gun, your options are few. Option one is to simply comply with his demands. Option two is to fight him. Neither option is likely to have a positive outcome, but option two has the advantage of making the hostage look noble and brave.

"What are you going to do?" Tim asked in an attempt to buy himself some time.

"We're going to find your NCIS buddies and see if we can't have ourselves a little negotiation."

Tim's eyes searched the ship corridor for a makeshift weapon. The corridor was almost completely bare…_almost_. "NCIS doesn't negotiate."

"Then today isn't your lucky day."

"Maybe it is," he muttered. In one swift motion, Tim ducked down and removed himself from Marsh's hold. The young agent grabbed the bucket – still partially filled – and swung his body around. The bucket slammed into Marsh's hand, knocking the gun from his grasp. Adding insult to injury, a substantial amount of the bucket's contents flew out and hit the Petty Officer in the face, effectively blinding him for a few seconds.

"What the fuck!" was all Marsh managed to get out before Tim grabbed him and slammed him face first into the wall. Their places had changed in only a matter of seconds; the captor was now the captive.

"Gibbs! Ziva! Tony!" Tim hollered.

"We are coming, McGee!" Ziva responded. Hear voice sounded blessedly near.

The trio arrived at approximately the same time and each of them stopped in their tracks to fully absorb the scene which lay before them. A sickly looking Tim was forcefully holding a vomit covered man against the wall of the ship corridor. The regurgitated food wasn't only covering the apprehended suspect, though; it also decorated the wall and floor surrounding Tim and his captive.

"What is this, McBarfBag? Did you try to puke him to death?"

Tim shot him a glare. "I had to do something, Tony, and I had very little to work with."

"Messy, but effective," Ziva said with an amused smile. "I have seen far stranger weapons used."

In light of her comment, Tony gave Ziva an incredulous look. "I don't even want to know."

"DiNozzo, stay with Marsh while we go back to headquarters," Gibbs ordered.

"Stay? Why can't we just bring him with us?"

"Because I don't want to suffer with the smell of vomit for the entire ride back."

"It's McGee's upchuck!" Tony protested. "Make him stay!"

"He's the one who caught Marsh," Gibbs said. "He's already done most of the work."

"Besides," Ziva added, "if we force him to remain on this ship any longer we may return to a corridor filled with his 'upchuck.'"

"Now handcuff him," Gibbs told him. "I'll send a car back to pick you both up."

The team, minus Tony, filed out. Tim shot the older agent a grin and mock salute as walked by. Tony kept a light gripped on the handcuffed culprit.

"Boats," he groaned. "Why did it have to be a freaking boat!?"


End file.
